


A Monster Like Me

by jessicaannsavage



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Body Image, F/M, Fallout, Fallout 4 - Freeform, Female Sole Survivor - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, John Hancock/F!Sole Survivor - Freeform, John Hancock/F!Sole Survivor One Shot, John Hancock/Sole Survivor - Freeform, One Shot, Self-Esteem, Self-Esteem Issues, Short One Shot, Sole Survivor, john hancock - Freeform, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:09:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8840500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicaannsavage/pseuds/jessicaannsavage
Summary: At first he was so intoxicated by her- by their relationship- that he could ignore the anxiety gnawing away at him. But it was eventually going to catch up to him. For all his charisma and charm, he can't help but think his Sunshine is going to be taken away from him. Ghoul angst, self esteem issues, and cute shit. One shot.





	

It eats at him, bit by bit, moment by moment, dissolving pieces of him like acid. _Fucking stupid,_ he thinks to himself, to be so hung up on something someone said to Ronnie in passing. In her Ronnie way she had barked out a laugh, the vicious kind that signaled disinterest in the harshest of ways, before turning her attention back to him and pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth.

 

 _“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be all alone,”_ he had smirked, offering his hand to Ronnie as if her arm hadn’t been looped through Hancock’s- as if the whole of the city didn’t know that they were together. As if Hancock wasn’t even there. For a moment the square jawed man had glanced at him, before turning his attention back to Ronnie.

 

She hadn’t wasted a moment in rejecting him, not a single second before pouring every ounce of affection and attention into the ghoul beside her. But still it burned, and he hated how his shaking hands grasped for anything to take off the edge, to dull the ache. 

 

It’s all so fucking stupid; he’s the Mayor of Goodneighbor, affluent and charismatic, and he carries himself with confidence. So why does his self-assured nature die away when it comes to her? She’s never stand-offish about her feelings, never hesitant to make it clear her affection belongs him, and him only.

 

Yet here he is, hands gripping the porcelain of the chipped sink as he stares into his own void eyes. On the floor lies his hat, discarded along with his frock as he rakes his critical gaze over himself, and try as hard as he might, he can’t come to understand what it is she sees in him. Her lips are whole and plump and soft, while his are nearly non-existent. Her skin is smooth and creamy, where his is split and scarred and _rotting_. When she smiles it’s like starlight, bright and straight and pearly, yet when he smiles he can only see what’s yellow and jagged. 

 

His ruined fingers poke and prod as his cheeks, as he tries to remember what he looked like before. Before he could have competed with any single man, and this newfound lapse in confidence wouldn’t be an issue. But now he’s a zombie, a shambling corpse, pinning after a smoothskin with a wicked grin and sharp eyes while men and women with far more skin and hair watch every move she makes.

 

Everything about her feels right; her kiss, her laugh, her indomitable will and razor sharp wit. 

He doesn’t want to be anywhere else but beside her, doesn’t want to lose his missing piece, the last good thing he’s got. His jaw is set and his eyes burn as he thinks, mind searching for ways to keep her, to be _enough_.

 

“Hancock.” she whispers, startling him into spinning around. Her shoulder is pressed against the door frame as she leans, arms folded over her chest, one foot tucked behind the other. 

 

“Hey.” It sounds more somber than he had hoped it would, and her brow cocks. 

 

“What is it?” 

 

Of course she sees right though him- notes the slumped shoulders and haggard way about him.

 

“Nothin’, sunshine.” he flashes a half-ass grin before slipping past her and dropping onto the couch. 

He knows she doesn’t buy it, but she doesn’t push the subject, instead pressing a kiss to his forehead and leaving to tend to the needs of the people.

 

The coming days he still feels empty, unintentionally pushing her away. She gives him space, occasionally pecking his cheek as she offers him food or water. Things are stiff between them, and it hurts him more than he can possibly describe. He’s sure she’s slipping away, moving forward without him, and he knows it’s his fault. But each time her fingers graze his skin he’s reminded of what he is, and what she isn’t, and he instinctively searches his coat for chems. 

 

Fists clench and unclench as he stares into the fire, wanting nothing more than to put this past him, but he can’t. The thoughts are invasive, dogging him until he succumbs to them, and his mood turns sour. He hears her soft footfalls behind him, and he shrinks away.

 

“Hancock.” 

 

He takes a deep breath, tries to steady his shaking hands.

 

“Hancock, please.”

 

Her voice is small, so small it hurts, and he stands to face her.

 

“Yeah.” The response is sharp, unintentionally so, and he immediately regrets it.

 

“What’s going on?” she asks, concern creasing her forehead. He can’t think of a response, can’t make his mouth work, so he shrugs and shakes his head.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

 

“Oh, I suppose you know?” he quips, cursing himself as soon as the words leave his mouth. 

 

“Christ, why are you doing this? What have I done to make you so damn mad at me?” her voice is louder now, so sharp it cuts him.

 

“You haven’t done a damn thing.”

 

“Then why am I the one being punished?”

 

“I’m not punishin’ you. It ain’t you.”

 

“Don’t you feed me that “it’s not you, it’s me” bullshit. If I’ve done something, just tell me and I will fix it so we can move on and I can have you back.”

 

“Goddamn it, Ronnie, it ain’t like that.”

 

“Then what is it? Cause it feels like I’m losing you, John. And it’s pretty fucking painful.”

He rubs at his face, hating every moment of this. His hat is once again on the ground as a strangled growl rips through his throat, and he’s pacing back and forth, frustration punctuating every movement he makes.

 

“If you don’t want this, I get it. Just tell me already and I’ll be gone.”

 

The defeat in her voice is agonizing. His stomach drops and he swears he’s going to vomit. He’s done it now.

 

“Holy shit, Ronnie, no. I want this. I want this more than I want air to breathe. Don’t think for a moment I don’t.”

 

“Then what the fuck is going on?” she groans in exasperation, throwing her hands up.

 

“I can’t understand why _you_ want this.” he all but shouts, throwing his hands up in frustration, and her jaw goes slack, “I can’t believe for a moment that you’re gonna stay with me. I gotta wonder when I’m gonna lose you, an’ it feels like each day is a step closer to it.”

 

Her brow is furrowed, eyes squinting, trying to understand.

 

“I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t I want this? Why would I leave? John, I—”

 

“C’mon, love! Look at this mug! Why else would you leave?” it’s so bitter, the tone in his voice, and he’s choking back a sob as he gestures to the whole of him.

 

“Oh. My god,” her voice barely a whisper now as it sinks in, “you think- you think I’m going to leave you because you’re a ghoul? Holy shit.”

 

“Because I’m ugly.” he snaps.

 

“You’re not ugly, John.” she whispers as she steps towards him, eyes glistening.

 

“Have you seen me, sunshine? Not exactly a regular pre-war heart throb over here, ya know.”

 

“John.” 

 

There’s a tenderness in her voice that stings him even more. Without hesitation she reaches for him, placing her hands on either side of his face and pulling him towards her. She rests her forehead against his, thumbs brushing against his ragged cheeks as she kisses him- his lips, his forehead, his chin, his jaw. Instinctually his arms wrap around her and his eyes flutter closed.

 

“I’m sorry, babe.” she whispers against his skin, “I’m so sorry.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For ever making you feel like I don’t love everything about you.”

 

“Whoa, hold on,” he whispers, pulling himself away from her to look into her eyes, “I never said-“

 

“I know what you think. That I’ve somehow looked past the ghoul to love you. That I love you _despite_ you being a ghoul. That’s not it. If you try to love someone _despite_ something, there will come a time when you just _can’t_ look past whatever it is anymore, and that’s what you’re afraid of. Right? That at some point I won’t be able to tolerate this about you anymore, and I’ll look for someone else. 

 

John I love everything you are. Even the ghoul.”

 

He’s stunned, to be sure, and he can’t make his mouth work, can’t make his brain work. 

 

“Why?” he chokes out, bewildered as all hell.

 

“Because that’s who you are. The ghoulification was the catalyst for you becoming everything you are. And damn it, John, I love everything about you. That infuriatingly cocky strut, that maddening self-assured smirk, that love-sick look about you when I catch you looking my way, the way you throw your head back when you laugh, the sound of your voice- everything.”

 

“Love my nose, too?” he asks with a smirk, and she laughs.

 

“Especially your nose.

 

I don’t love you _despite_ how you look, I love you _and_ how you look. Please don’t ever think otherwise. No one can hold a candle to you, John Hancock, no one.”

 

For a moment he says nothing, eyes narrow as he regards this woman that so quickly became his everything.

 

“How’d I get this damn lucky?” he laughs, holding her too tight, afraid she might melt away in his grasp. She laughs, pressing kiss after kiss across his ragged face. 

 

Her eyes are locked on his, foreheads touching, and small praises fall from her lips. He’d cry if he could, but he just grips her tighter, pulling her closer and stealing a kiss. His hand tangles in her hair as she nips at his bottom lip, and he groans into her mouth.

 

“Ronnie, I’m so sorry” he whispers, breaking the kiss.

 

“Don’t be.”

 

“I am. Listen. No, listen, love” he whispers, cutting off her protests and holding her gaze, “I pushed you away. I shoulda just come to you, told you.”

 

“You will next time, right?”

 

“Yeah,” he breathes before pulling her into another kiss, “promise.”

 

 

 


End file.
